In the following review, the unsigned critic remarks that the pieces in Perelman's Chicken Inspector No. 23 are "as furiously and fluently disenchanted as ever."

Some people "have" S. J. Perelman in the way that others "have" French, Urdu or Chinook, and the test of their competence is how many and memorable are the chapter titles they can quote. For the list of contents in a book by Mr. Perelman is more precious than the actual texts of most other funny writers. Chicken Inspector No. 23, his first collection in five lean years, contains at least one title to be thankful for: "Nobody Knows the Rubble I've Seen/Nobody Knows but Croesus," and the essay that follows—about househunting in Hollywood—is just as good.